Notes: I am going away to the Bahamas on Wednesday, June 20, and I won’t be back until early July,
unless my cruise-ship sinks and I die. But assuming I live, I will continue this story when I get home unless
I can convince my father to give me his laptop, in which case I will work on it while I’m away. Anyway,
much love! *tips sunglasses* Taa!

For Earth is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky

by Pata
 
 

Chapter 4
...Gets Up With Fleas
 

The dining hall was crowded with Hogwarts students adorned in typical black-gothic robes and
pointed hats with the various crests of the Houses emblazoned on their clothing, but not so crowded
that Pansy couldn’t find me a seat next to her.

"Thank you, Pansy," I managed politely as she showed me the chair she had kicked another Slytherin
out of to allow me to sit in. She took the one next to me.

I unfolded my silver-hemmed green napkin into my lap and took a steaming lobster and some
potatoes from the never-ending buffet. Across the room, a cheery-looking red and gold table buzzed
with the noise of conversation.

I saw Granger, sitting next to Potty and the Weasel. She turned and caught my eye, nodding slightly
to confirm out meeting. Weasley turned her back around and struck up a conversation, which caused
her to lose all interest in me.

*

"Interest?" repeated Percy Weasley. "She had interest in you?"

I rolled my eyes at him, but inside my heart leapt up into my throat and pounded there. I swallowed
it back down to its rightful spot in my chest. "Not that kind of interest. Just scholarly interest. She
wanted to teach; I wanted to learn. It was a student-teacher relationship."

Percy was skeptical, that much was obvious. He was about to speak again, but Fred Weasley clapped
a hand over his mouth.

"Percy?" he said. "Shaddup."

"It’s good for you," George added.

Percy resisted the two brigands, but they didn’t release him. Clearly neither cared about me; they
were solely interested in the torment of their brother. It was a lucky thing for me, though.

"Please go on, Mr. Malfoy," one of the judges said, with a meaningful glance in my father’s direction.
Lucius glared at him, until Mother put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a don’t-play-with-fire look.

I continued, "Anyway, through this, Pansy had been rambling on continuously about one thing or
another."

*

"Isn’t it unfair how Gryffindor wins the House Cup every year?" she quipped.

"They don’t win it every year," I said.

"Well, almost every year then!" she snapped indignantly in her annoying nasal twang. "I mean,
they’re clearly Dumbledore’s favorite house. Come on, he loves that fool Potter and his lovely scar."
She launched into a rather believable impression of the boy. "‘Look at my scar! He-Who-Must-Not-
Be-Named didn’t kill me! Look at me, I can say his name and not be scared! Voldemort, Voldemort!
Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, VOLDEMORT!’"

Well, that pretty much silenced out entire table. Pansy hid her face shamefully behind her napkin. A
tall, burly boy a year or so older than myself cleared his throat rudely. "Give her a break," I said, unable
to believe I was sticking up for someone I utterly despised, "she was doing an impression of Potter."

And that caused much of the Slytherin table to erupt into cheers for Pansy, which, in turn, caused the
other House tables to turn and look at us. I shook my head ruefully in shame at my Housemates and
went back to quietly munching on my lobster.

Dinner was adjourned before long, and as I got up put my hat back on my head, a wind rushed past
me as someone walked by very rapidly.

"It’s you!" a male voice cried suddenly.

I secured my hat and my head and looked around, but I didn’t see anyone. I started toward the door,
but a hand grabbed the back of my robes and stopped me short. I whipped quickly around to meet a
pair of dangerously narrowed, angry seafoam-colored eyes.

"It’s you!" he repeated.

I rolled my eyes over the boy. His mess of red hair fell down over his face in sexy, boyish wisps;
freckles were scattered across his face. He stood taller than me by quite some inches, and my
forehead was about level with his nose.

I snorted at him. "I know I’m famous, Weasley, but why do you keep exclaiming that?"

"It’s your cologne that she smells like," Ron Weasley said, quieter this time.

"What are you talking about?" I asked impatiently, blowing aside a strand of silvery hair that had
fallen down over my eye.

"It’s what Hermione smells like," he snapped. "Your cologne. I’ve been noticing it for a while now,
but I couldn’t quite place the scent." He glared at me and his eyes nearly burned into my soul. I stared
stolidly back with my icy, mind-bending eyes, but he didn’t even flinch. Suddenly, he burst out with:
"You’ve been kissing her, haven’t you?"

*

"And had you?" the head Justice asked. "Had you been kissing her?"

"Of course not," I said, with a quick glance in Hermione’s direction. "Surely she only smelled of my
cologne because of our tutoring sessions. I’d never kiss a Mudblood."

Somehow I found it much harder to spit out that insult now…
 
 
 

Back to Chapter 3
Chapter 5